The Trinity Game

A car door slammed, and the ride in the time machine ended. Daniel yawned, stretched. Then realized they weren’t moving. He blinked and sat up straight. “What’s going on? Where are we?”

He was alone in the truck. Trinity was gone, and he’d taken his Bible with him.

Daniel glanced at his watch—1:57. He held up a hand to block the sun and looked through the windshield. About sixty cars and pickups, parked on a field of dry grass…

And a half dozen RVs…

Parked beside a big white tent.

For a few long seconds, Daniel groggily considered the possibility of time travel, decided it was more likely that he was still asleep, still dreaming. No, this is the truck we got from the redneck. This is now…

Oh, shit.

Trinity’s stopped at a tent revival.

He jumped from the truck and ran, weaving between parked trucks, passing under a vinyl banner that said:

THE HOLY SPIRIT IS ALIVE IN GREENVILLE

…and into the packed tent.

About two hundred people under the tent, some sitting in folding lawn chairs but most standing, some holding camcorders, all facing the plywood stage where a fat Holy Roller with a microphone bellowed hallelujahs through a PA system so powerful you could feel the man’s voice rumble in your abdomen. Daniel kept moving, scanning the crowd as he pressed further inside.

After a few seconds, he spotted his uncle. But it was too late.

The Holy Roller stopped bellowing and stood agape as Trinity bounded up the steps at the side of the stage, bright blue Bible in hand. Several in the crowd gasped audibly. A woman shouted, “It’s Reverend Tim!” And another, “Reverend Tim’s alive!” followed by a “Praise Jesus!” and at least a dozen hallelujahs.

Tim Trinity waved to the crowd and flashed his thousand-watt smile. “Thank you, thank you, bless you.” He made calming gestures with his Bible and the crowd got quiet. “I was just drivin’ past and spotted y’all’s tent, and I got to feeling that God wanted me to stop and say a few words.” He shook his head. “Now, I don’t…well, to be honest, I don’t feel a spell coming on, and I don’t know if God will choose to speak through me in tongues, and if he doesn’t, I won’t fake it.”

Trinity stepped gracefully over to the Holy Roller and took the microphone from him with a smile and a nod of thanks. He turned away from the crowd, found a chair at the back of the stage, and dragged it to the front. He sat and blew out a long breath and said, “I hope y’all don’t mind if I sit. I tell ya true, the last few weeks have been as much a trial as a blessing. But I’m trying. Trying to do the right thing. And that’s why I stopped when I saw your tent. I know you’ve all seen me on television, but some of you will remember, before I was on television, I used to come by Greenville pretty regular.”

“We remember you, Reverend Tim!” shouted a skinny old man in the crowd.

“Good. Because I have a confession to make.” Trinity cleared his throat. “All those times I came here, I was, uh…well, no way to sugar-coat it. I was a fake.” The crowd gasped, almost as one. He nodded, “I know, it’s terrible. I was conning you, just trying to put on a good show and separate you from some of your hard-earned money. That’s the truth.” He stood up. “I believe God brought me here so I could make my confession. And I think he would want me to warn you that this man—” he thrust a finger at the Holy Roller standing to his right “—this man is a false prophet, just as I was.”

The crowd responded with a stunned silence, as if Trinity’s words hadn’t quite registered or didn’t make any sense. After a few seconds, everyone started talking at the same time, their voices running together in confusion and despair.

But some voices rose above the chaos to call out their disbelief.

“No!”

“Not Preacher Bob!”

“Why should we believe you? You just admitted you’re a fake!”

The Holy Roller jumped forward, snatched the microphone from Trinity, jabbed a finger at the air between them and bellowed, “Satan!” He swept his arm, taking in the crowd. “These good people are like family. They know me, have known me for years, and you will not turn them away from righteousness!”

“You tell him, Preacher Bob!”

Preacher Bob kicked it onto high gear. “We are the children of God—Hallelujah!— and we will not have the wool pulled over our eyes—Hallelujah!—and we will not be tricked by your black magic—Hallelujah! In Jesus’s name, we cast you out of this place of Christian worship! Be gone! Be gone! Be gone!”

The crowd chanted along with him: Be gone! Be gone! Be gone...

Trinity stood in place, his face a portrait of bewilderment and loss. “No, no, you don’t understand. Wait, I’m trying to—I’m speaking the truth…” He closed his eyes and held his Bible to his chest. “Please,” he said.

The crowd pressed toward the stage, chanting even louder: Be gone! Be gone! Be gone…

Daniel sharp-elbowed his way through the crowd, leapt onto the stage, and grabbed Trinity’s wrist.

And dragged him the hell out of there.

Blue Ridge Mountains, Georgia…

Conrad Winter pulled to a stop behind the red Escalade with the gold rims and the bullet holes in the tailgate. He eyed the axe in the tree stump, the shabby cabin, the big man sitting on the stoop, next to a row of rose bushes. He mentally tipped his hat to Daniel. He hadn’t really expected him to mess up this early in the game, knew Daniel wouldn’t be the easiest prey he’d ever brought down, but that would just make the sweet honey of victory that much sweeter. Golden Boy was now playing in his world, and the outcome was not in doubt.

Conrad cut the engine and turned to his assistant. “Here’s the play. Get out, come around, open the door for me. Leave your jacket unbuttoned and accidentally flash your piece on your way. Then plant yourself in front of that axe over there.”

“Got it.”

Conrad watched the big man on the stoop, saw him notice the gun as Father Doug came around the fender. He got out and walked toward the man, and as he got close, the man stood.

He was big all right. Conrad was not used to looking up at other men and guessed this one at about six- seven. But he drank too much beer and ate too much barbecue, and he’d seen Doug’s gun.

“You boys a little early for Halloween,” said the big country boy. But his delivery lacked confidence.

Conrad smiled, said, “My name is Father Carmine, and my associate is Father David. I need you to tell me everything you remember about the two men who came here in that truck. Every detail exactly as it happened, and everything they said. You can keep the truck, by the way. We’re here for information.”

The man looked uneasy. “Why you chasin’ after them?”

“Their lives are in danger, my son, and we are trying to save them.” Conrad put no effort into selling the line. Now he dropped the smile. “And every minute I spend explaining things to you is a minute I am not getting closer to them.” He scratched his right earlobe, signaling Doug to loom a little closer, and heard him take a few steps forward, then stop. “Now let’s start again. I need you to tell me everything you remember about the two men who came here in that truck. Every detail exactly as it happened, and everything they said. Do you understand me clearly?”

“Yes, I think I do.”

“Good. Understand this also: If we later discover that you lied to us, I will be displeased. And you will feel the